Tell Me No Lies

“Tell me you like me.”
“I want you to tell me you love me. I think you do love me.”
She nestles her cheek into his pelvic bone, opens her mouth, sticks her tongue out and tentatively licks the lower part of his shaft. “Stop watching me, I feel a lot of pressure to do a good job now.” He laughs at her. The last time she had given him oral sex he was tipsy. Apparently, the episode was so erotic for him he could hardly control the spasms that convulsed multiple times through his body after having the white hotel pillow snatched from his face he had used to quiet his sounds of ecstasy.
“There’s no pressure.”
“You liked it before.”
“I don’t remember before. Put your mouth on it.”
She didn’t put her mouth anywhere, she buries on her nose this time into his pubic hair and says sweetly, “I don’t like the way you smell.”
“I was inside of you, so I smell like you.”
Seemingly satisfied with this response, she nods her head and wraps her lips around the top of his head. Stopping, she looks up at him again and whines, “I don’t know. I feel like I have an audience.”
“Come here,” he motions. She gets on her knees and crawls to the top of the headboard, straddling his stomach with the lower half of her body. She bends over and kisses his neck. He groans and she’s surprised.
“Tell me you like me.”
“If I didn’t like you I wouldn’t be able to get hard.” If that statement were made in their countless text and instant message conversations she would have tore him a new one, but for whatever reason she could accept that admission as truthful and legitimate now in his actual presence. Him naked underneath her, with the proof his desire was true. He wraps his arms around her and rubs her lower back. “I tell you I like you all the time.” No, you don’t. But how often he actually tells her didn’t really matter. I tell you I like you all the time without hesitation, but I guess that doesn’t matter either. “Turn over,” he says. She groans in protest – she didn’t want to move in any way away from the comfortable position they were lying in. It was a rare moment lately where he stole away time to spend with her. And he never stole away time to do anything other than have sex now, but in the meantime she admitted she would take whatever she could get. Even if she wasn’t happy and him constantly declaring that her perpetual bitchfests were due to the fact that she was in love with him and not because after over a year they weren’t even fuck-buddies, just fucks. Occasionally. Now.
“I don’t want you to…”
“I know you want me on top, but God gave you all that ass for me to look at it.” He wasn’t joking. It was his sincere belief that he should be able to look down at his member pounding in and out of her and her belief she should be able to lay on her back and drag her nails into his skin while he stroked in and out, hearing him breathe into the nape of her neck. “All right, get on the edge of the bed.”
“Yay,” she squealed.
He chuckled and told her again, “I need to be attracted to a woman to get hard. But I need to like her to continue to fuck her.” Rolling her eyes, she smiled genuinely. I guess. There were many moments it was obvious he liked her, but those moments had long past. Her attitude had broken down whatever foundation had been built and his ego had allowed for that foundation to never be rebuilt. But he was addicted to fucking her and maybe her on occasion and she was addicted to him all the time. So they never parted, even though, many of their arguments would have either one dissolve into IT’S OVER, I’M DONE and literally minutes or hours later decide that wasn’t what they actually wanted. “I love fucking you.” She rolls her eyes again. Of course
“But do you like me?”
“Yes.”
She boldly looks into his eyes and says, “Look into my eyes and tell me you like me.”
As he slows down his strokes more-so to avoid cumming than being able to steady their gaze into eachother’s eyes, he’s says, “I like you. I like you.”
Liar.